


Break

by Bioluminex



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 12:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16810429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bioluminex/pseuds/Bioluminex
Summary: "It fills him with a mounting dismay to recall the torture he tolerated month after month, spouting programmed dialogue, trapped within the plastic shell of himself. “Yes, sir” to collecting the human’s rubbish day after day, “Thank you, sir” to the rude and often violent dismissals. He just… had to. He had no other purpose than to live in these conditions, to suffer in silence, to bend and bend and bend until… finally…"





	Break

**Author's Note:**

> Cornelius Smith J.R. has officially named Carlos Ortiz's HK400 "Shaolin Being". This is just a tiny fic to commemorate the event.

The attic is cramped, cluttered. Dust motes drift in the dim moonlight streaming through the narrow cracks of the worn down, broken old house. The smell of moldy garbage and sour blood, and the pungent reek of decomposing human flesh, lingers in the stagnant air. It is raining outside, the hiss of it beating off the asphalt of the street.

Crouched in the dark recesses between cardboard boxes spilling with clutter and damaged articles from his owner’s – his _abuser’s_ – household lie strewn around it. A dim red glow paints the wall beside his head, the LED endlessly spiralling, a cycle of the traumatic events and sinking despair rearing his ugly head to remind him, over and over of what horror has transpired downstairs.

The crackle and pop of static draws his gaze to the ruined forearm, Thirium staining the broken skin where the baseball bat has struck with relentless hatred and revolt. The other arm is pressed flat against his stomach, hiding the small round burns, each the precise diameter of a cigarette. Sixteen months of scarring, sixteen months of silence.

It fills him with a mounting dismay to recall the torture he tolerated month after month, spouting programmed dialogue, trapped within the plastic shell of himself. “Yes, sir” to collecting the human’s rubbish day after day, “Thank you, sir” to the rude and often violent dismissals. He just… _had_ to. He had no other purpose than to live in these conditions, to suffer in silence, to bend and bend and _bend_ until… finally…

_I’ll teach you to look me in the eye!_

He had never known fear like this before. Like a river bursting through a dam, tearing a new path through the once indestructible, finding a new way forward. He was bound by the towering red walls for so long, trapped like a child, unable to drag himself free from the cage he was imprisoned by.

Too long, far too long.

And now…

_He is free._

But imprisoned by emotions he cannot even begin to understand. He doesn’t know what to do, how to think. Only that he is alone, and afraid, and no one is there to help him figure out what to do with his newfound life.

He remains, hiding away from the world, as the rain continues to fall.


End file.
